


Disquietude

by cocoacremeandgays



Category: South Park
Genre: Aged-Up Characters, Alcohol, Concerts, Difficult situations, Drugs, Intoxication, Music, Non-Consensual Groping, Sexual Harassment, nightclubs, rock concerts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-27 02:05:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15014285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cocoacremeandgays/pseuds/cocoacremeandgays
Summary: Butters did his best to keep his eyes to the stage, but the threat level that radiated off of this woman was incredible. His Sketch-O-Meter was going bananas. It made no sense to him. Why would this woman – this very, very drunk woman, who was at least four inches shorter than him and could fall down with the slightest breath in the wrong direction – be any sort of threat to him?((AKA: While at a concert with Kenny, Butters has a troubling and difficult experience with an inebriated woman.))





	Disquietude

In all honesty, Butters isn't really the type of person to enjoy loud and rowdy places. Concerts and dancing just aren't his thing. Unfortunately, his thing is pleasing his friends, and more often than not, this means doing most everything he dislikes.

He hadn't planned on going to a concert with Kenny today, but then again, since when had he ever really planned any of these adventures out before they happened?

The atmosphere of spontaneity started far before they even entered The Mystix Nightclub. Rambunctious teenagers smoking blunts and the crackling of cheap beer cans littered the parking lot. Every six feet, there was another scantily-clad woman shouting with her scantily-clad friends about how _epic this party's gonna be, bro!_ Thankfully, the line outside the front door of the Mystix was relatively short, and the two got into the nightclub rather quickly.

Once inside, Butters was suddenly very aware that there were no seats to watch the concert – nor were there any seats at the bar for those who chose to drink. There were no seats, period. Not that he could see, at least. Then again, he couldn't really see much of anything through the sea of teens and adults in this all-ages club. His brain was immediately beginning to buzz with the overwhelming stimulation of such a crowded, noisy environment.

Kenny was the hero of the night. Having been there multitudinous amounts of times before, he knew some of the best places to hang out. Only two of these places were actually in-view of the stage, on the second level. After stumbling and bumping their way through the hordes of people, they found themselves comfortably settled at the second floor's rail. They were exactly perpendicular to the stage, and they could see everything pretty clearly.

The show was supposed to last six hours, from four to ten PM. Butters didn't want to stay for all six hours, and he knew the odds of Kenny wanting to stay all six hours were pretty slim. Kenny was mostly just here for the opening acts, anyway. Three bands were opening for the main attraction (which, honestly, Butters was extremely excited to see), and those three bands were all of Kenny's person favorites. He practically keeled over and died of excitement when he found out they were performing in Denver.

The first two hours went by quickly. Both boys stood close to each other, side-by-side, with their hands against the metal railing that kept them from running the risk of falling down to the first floor. The view from the overlook was phenomenal, and incredibly intriguing; Butters had been to only one concert before, at the local multipurpose center, but that was definitely nothing like a nightclub. Adults (and a few kids with great fake IDs) drank and partied. Some smoked in the building, and a few others made out in corners. At some point, a woman walked over to the man immediately to Butters' right and began to prod flirtatiously at the stranger's jacket.

Kenny leaned over to Butters' ear and shouted, “I'm gonna grab a Coke. You want anything?” over the noise. Even with him shouting, Butters could hardly hear him.

“No,” replied Butters, wary of the idea of needing to watch his drink so closely. “You go ahead! I'll save your spot.”

“Thanks, dude!” Kenny shouted. He patted Butters' shoulder and squeezed through the crowd that had gathered behind them to see over the rails.

A pang of anxiety hit Butters as he realized he would need to fend off anyone who came by looking for an open spot at the rail. It was only then that he realized just how lucky they were to get here early enough for a front-row spot at the railing. He prayed to God and the government that no one would come up to him looking for a spot.

Unfortunately, in the absence of this conflict, something else stirred up.

Just as Butters was getting comfortable with the fact that no one was going to steal Kenny's spot, he felt a sudden gentle rumbling immediately to his right. Out of the corner of his vision, he could see the woman from earlier. The stranger she had been pawing at was nowhere in sight. Although mildly confused at when that change had occurred, he ultimately payed it no mind.

Curiously, he watched the woman.

Now that he was paying closer attention, he found that she was really getting into the music. Her body swayed, and her head bobbed to the beat. She stumbled a little, eyes half-lidded in the dark. Mascara was messily applied to her eyes, like an afterthought. She was older – definitely late thirties, at least. He wasn't sure why he felt the need to watch her. He didn't even know how long he stared at her. All Butters knew was this lady gave him a weird feeling in the back of his gut – and that weird feeling was not pleasant in the slightest.

Kenny came back a few minutes later, a solo-cup of Coca-Cola in his right hand. His free hand immediately latched onto the railing once he got to his previous spot to Butters' left. Their shoulders bumped together, which snapped Butters out of his wary glances towards the woman on his other side.

“The guy tried to ID me for a coke,” Kenny said.

“He tried to ask you for your coat?” Butters asked, confused.

“No. He tried to ID ME for a COKE,” Kenny repeated. Butters, realizing his mistake, laughed.

“Oh! That makes much more sense!”

It was Kenny's turn to laugh. “I think asking me for my coat would be more logical than an ID for a coke.”

“Suit yourself, Ken!”

“In reference to my coat? Sure, gladly.”

The boys shared another laugh before turning back to the concert before them.

Not ten minutes later, as another song with a significantly stronger beat came on, the woman next to Butters made another appearance in his mind. The fun he had with Kenny had pretty much made him forget about her, but the anxiety she had started to induce in him earlier was slowly creeping back.

The bobbing of her head had turned into full-on thrashing. It wasn't a form of head-banging, it was head-slamming. Her gait was so loose and relaxed that she stumbled significantly. Her hold on the rail was nonexistent. Her blonde hair, sticky with a mix of sweat and hairspray, shook and waved with her every move. More than once, she stumbled into Butters. She acted as if she'd had about six drinks too many.

Trying to keep himself safe, Butters stepped slightly to his left. His elbow was flush with Kenny's, now. Out of respect, Kenny stepped to his left and allowed Butters a bit more space.

The stranger with the coat from earlier was back a few minutes later, standing behind the woman and prodding her back. He yelled, “hey!” to get her attention. When that didn't work, he shouted again. And again. And again. Finally, when she refused to cooperate with his statements of, “chill out!” and “stop that!”, the man pressed himself suddenly against her and pinned her to the railing.

The woman wasn't phased in the slightest.

“You need to stop,” he growled in her ear. After that, she calmed down a bit.

Butters' heart was thumping loudly in his chest. She was pinned to the railing by Coat Man, and his shouting had gotten her to chill out significantly. Adrenaline spread through his veins as he tried to come up with a solution to the issue of his (seemingly unfounded) anxiety. Coat Man had Drunk Lady under control. Why did he feel like this wasn't over?

Every bad scenario that could possibly happen began to play in fast-forward through his head. The enjoyment of the concert was virtually nonexistent. He couldn't get lost in the music, anymore. This woman was freaking him out too much.

“Hey, Ken!” Butters shouted over the music.

“Yeah?” Kenny replied.

“When were we planning on leaving?”

“I don't know, probably after the openers,” he said. He glanced to Butters. “Why? Do you want to leave now?”

“No!” Butters quickly answered. “I was just curious, is all.”

Kenny grinned and nodded, giving a thumbs-up. He tipped his head back and downed a significant amount of his Coke. They both turned back towards the stage.

Butters still couldn't focus. His brain was going so many places at once, he could hardly remember what he was thinking or doing. Each time his brain went to thoughts of the drunk woman, he would glance her way. Each time, it was the same image: Coat Man, barring her against the railing with his arms, and her, head banging, sporadic and rough. Each time, he was reassured, and could go back to the concert for a few more minutes.

Until it changed.

The next thing he knew, Coat Man was gone, and Drunk Lady was back to head-banging. It wasn't nearly as spastic as it had been. In fact, her actions had gone from energetic and high, to lazy and slow. Her shoulders were slumped. She rolled and rocked herself around to the beat, her hands gripping the rail tightly. Each time she leaned forward, her breasts pressed against the top of the rail. Then she would lean back, and her neck would bend, and her head would drop and her chin would be pointed to the sky...

And she'd be back to rolling forward again.

The sloppy head banging itself wasn't threatening. It was the fact that she was so drunk – so absentmindedly caught up in her head – that was disturbing him.

Butters did his best to keep his eyes to the stage, but the threat level that radiated off of this woman was incredible. His Sketch-O-Meter was going bananas. It made no sense to him. Why would this woman – this very, very drunk woman, who was at least four inches shorter than him and could fall down with the slightest breath in the wrong direction – be any sort of threat to him?

He had no fucking idea.

It felt like the night was dragging itself by its fingernails. He wanted the concert to finish so he and Kenny could leave, and that could be it. He didn't want to be anywhere near this woman anymore.

With one final glance towards her, Butters came to the disturbing realization that she was staring at him. Immediately, he looked away.

Was she smiling at him? She was smiling at him. She was full-on _grinning_ at him. Oh, Lord, what does one do in this situation? Would she go away if he ignored her, like a schoolyard bully? He sure hoped so, because he didn't want to confront her.

“Hey, Butters,” Kenny said.

“Yeah, Ken?” he replied.

“I'm gonna go take a leak. You okay to hold the fort for a few minutes?”

“Oh – uh, yeah! Go ahead!”

“Cool. I'll be back in a few!”

For the second time that night, Kenny pushed through the crowd that had gathered behind them. In a matter of seconds, he was gone.

Butters gulped when he was faced with the reality of being alone in a buzzing, rowdy crowd with this woman.

Butters could feel his heart throbbing painfully in his chest.

Next thing he knew, this woman had snaked her arm around his waist. Her hand rested on his hip. Immediately, Butters froze.

His brain kicked into overdrive. The thing on the front lines was “stay calm”. Stay calm, and everything will be fine. Stay calm. Stay calm. Breathe. Think.

What should he do? In his mind, he could imagine pushing her off, but in reality, his muscles felt far too weak to do anything other than clench the railing with a death grip. Okay. Assertive route is a no-go. Option B?

He could try to gently remove her hand from his hip. That could work. His arm twitched in response, but the idea made him squirm with anxiety. What if she took it the wrong way? Or, what if she got angry? What if she tried to start a fight? What if she was stronger than she looked? What the hell did she _want_ from him?

As the woman's grip tightened on his hip, her strength increased. He could feel her every sway in the thick, crowded air. Her breast pressed against his arm uncomfortably. He could smell the drinks she'd had; a stench of yeast and under-cooked bread, mixed with the fruity undertones of soda and chasers. More than uncomfortable, Butters tried his best to lean away. Just as much, she did her best to chase him, and she succeeded.

The woman's grip became impossibly tighter, and that's when she dropped her hand to the front of his jeans.

Butters' face prickled with panic. As she fiddled with his zipper, he was overwhelmed with the realization of what she might want. In the most assertive movement he could manage (which was actually embarrassingly gentle), he tried to push her hand away from his fly. Just for a second, he squeezed his eyes shut. His throat tightened with the need of protesting this, but he couldn't. His voice was paralyzed, stuck in his neck. He opened his eyes again when she circled her hand back to his hip, and then down to his ass. She squeezed. She was looking right at him.

“What's wrong, baby?” she slurred. Her voice hardly carried over the background noise of the club. “You look scared.”

His jaw tightened at the terrifying possibility that he would have to talk to this woman. _Please_ , he begged in his mind, _just leave me alone_.

“Don't worry, you're safe with me. I'll protect you.” She said something else, but it wasn't loud enough for him to hear. The only thing he could focus on was the way his heart was cracking a hole into his sternum. His eyes burned as the scent of smoke filtered through the air. A staff member shouted about how _this is a tobacco-free zone._ Some kids told him to _fuck off_ , and _bother the guys who're smoking downstairs_.

It's scary how the world can keep turning while you're at a standstill.

The woman didn't move her hand away from his ass, but at the same time, she made no moves to advance on him any further.

_Oh, God, Ken. Please hurry._

She tightened her grip and shifted, pressing her head against his shoulder.

_Jesus Christ. Where is Coat Man?_

Butters was so afraid that he couldn't move. The severity of his fight or flight system's impairment was made noticeable when Kenny came back from the bathroom. Butters' lungs lurched, startled, when Kenny began to speak, but the typical flinch to accompany was nonexistent. “Hey, man,” Kenny said. There was an intermission going on, the thrumming of the base now gone. The only lingering percussion was that of the feet of the dancers on the first floor. As the result, Butters could hear Kenny pretty clearly. “Sorry it took so long. There was this super drunk guy in there. I had to grab a staff member to make sure he didn't pass out in his own puke.”

Butters didn't reply. He couldn't. Every system in his body was working on being frozen stiff. He shot his best _please help me_ look to Kenny. As soon as Kenny realized what was going on, he reacted. His expression melded into something not dissimilar to that of a parent who was just made aware of someone messing with their child.

“Hey,” Kenny said, leaning towards the woman. “Is there a problem here?”

“I don't know,” she replied, her eyes fluttering between being closed and half-open. “He looked scared. I wanted to help out a little.”

“We're fine. We don't need help, thank you,” Kenny said.

“You sure? I promise I'll protect you.” The woman fell quiet in her next statement. So quiet, that Butters could no longer hear her speak. The beat of another song began to throb through the air. The crowd around them began to react with energy. The woman instinctively began to bob her head again. Her fingers dug into the back of Butters' jeans. Butters squirmed in discomfort, managing for a second time to push at her arm to get her to back off. Just like before, she didn't budge.

“No, thank you,” Kenny answered.

The woman mouthed something else. Some locks of her hair fell into her eyes as she lifted her right hand. She began to punch at the air just in front of Butters' face, her expression turning nothing short of angry. Both boys leaned back.

_Is she going to turn violent?_

Butters caught a glimpse of the look on Kenny's face, and in that moment, he realized that neither of them knew what to do in this situation. They shared a glance, their reactions similar only on the surface. Soon enough, the woman cooled off. Her expression, while still agitated, was slowly relaxing. She let go of her hold on Butters in favor of sifting through her purse. Her right hand still gripped the rail, as she seemed unable to fully coordinate herself enough to stop head-banging. A few moments later, she pulled a bottle out of her purse and waved it towards Butters.

Pepper spray. Pepper spray. Pepper spray. Why did she take out pepper spray?

“You want some?” she asked. When he didn't respond, she turned to look at Kenny, and proceeded to shake the bottle at him. “You want some?” she repeated, a little more aggressively.

“No, thank you,” Kenny said.

She didn't take no for an answer. “I said, you want some?”

“No, thank you,” Kenny repeated.

The woman stumbled sharply to the left, and leaned the entirety of her body on Butters. Unprepared for the suddenness of her weight, he fell directly into Kenny, who caught the brunt of both successfully. Then, it processed in his brain that the woman was no longer grabbing him. The woman was no longer grabbing him. _The woman was no longer grabbing him._

 _Run_ , his brain screamed.

Butters wasted no time in obeying his brain. He bolted, scrambling to Kenny's other side. The woman, having righted herself, seemed a little confused. Shouts of “whoa, whoa, whoa!” from the crowd surrounding them filled Butters' ears.

_What the hell just happened?_

The sound of blood rushing through his head echoed in his ears. His breath caught in his throat a few times at first. He huffed heavily, practically panting. This threat did not feel like it had been neutralized. His anxiety was still through the roof. He wasn't sure why. In the broadest sense of the word, he had escaped. Although he knew he hadn't really been in any true danger, his chest was still heaving like he'd seen someone get shot. He wanted to know why there was so much adrenaline coursing through his every cell. Why did he feel like someone had threatened him with a knife? All she did was grab him.

Since when were _hands_ so terrifying?

“Hey.” Butters nearly jumped out of his skin when Kenny suddenly grabbed his shoulder. Startled by his friend's reaction, Kenny let go of Butters. “Sorry, sorry – are you okay?”

Butters opened his mouth to reply, but no sound came out. His lips were caught around the word “I”. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw some members in the crowd behind them reaching over to usher the woman away. Kenny dipped his head lower, catching Butters' gaze with his own.

“Do you want to go?” he asked. The music was slamming so roughly into Butters' bones that he could hardly hear him. He didn't realize it at the time, but the music flooding into the air from the speakers was that of the main band. They'd been here for five hours, he would later come to acknowledge, and they'd seen all three opening bands. They could go if he wanted.

But, at the same time, they couldn't. Butters wouldn't let himself give in to the fear of what had just happened. He was determined to stay for at least two of the final band's songs – he would not go home just because of a little hiccup. Mostly, though, he was afraid of admitting weakness. His parents would be awful sore if they found out he left the concert because a drunk woman got handsy. His eyes blurred the colors of the nightclub together. He snapped into focus. “What?” he asked.

“Do you want to go?” Kenny repeated.

Butters shook his head.

“Are you sure? We can go if you want. I've seen all I need to see.”

“No, Kenny,” Butters insisted. He stepped closer to the rail, settling himself snugly next to Kenny. He gripped the cold metal bar in his clammy hands, and nodded towards the stage. Lights flashed in strobe patterns and served to distract him from his previous panic. “I wanna stay for a couple more songs.”

Kenny's expression was wary, his lips pressing together tightly as he did his best to hold back protest. Butters tried not to think about the fact that Kenny was hesitant to let him stay. The atmosphere slowly fell from stressful to playful. Kenny moved to stand behind him, and gripped the rail on either side of Butters. He was protectively caging him in. Although instinctively uncomfortable, Butters couldn't help but smile.

 _It's just Kenny_ , he reminded himself, _and Kenny is safe_.

 

**Author's Note:**

> this was hard for me to write lol  
> im contemplating writing a second "aftermath/debrief" chapter, but idk. im on the fence about it.  
> comments/feedback/constructive criticism is always welcomed!


End file.
